Hundred suddenly dashed into the chamber and sprawled on the stone floor amid a clatter of equipment. In Halik’s army, such creatures were not necessarily elevated to the exalted rank of Hij, but they were no longer just Uul either. Halik had been such a creature himself and understood the potential of older, experienced Uul. In a sense, they were Hij—in all but education—and they could think.
“Speak!” Halik commanded. Still groveling, the creature hissed without looking upon him.
“The prey comes!” it said.
“So soon,” Niwa mused. “I had expected a dawn attack, although that is not long now.”
“As had I,” Halik admitted. He considered how to get the most information out of the underofficer. “Do they come in force? Are there many of them on the Tongue?”
“Not the Tongue, Lord General!” the creature whined. “I runned here, long way. Others runned long way first! I told to repeat, ‘The prey is ashore in strength at Madras!”
Niwa straightened, and Halik stood from his lounging hassock. “Madras!” they chorused, and looked at each other, both their faces hardening in their own way.
“They have done it to us again!” Halik breathed bitterly.
“Yes,” Niwa said, thoughtful, even with a touch of admiration, “but where they have landed changes nothing. True, we must deploy to react, even launch spoiling attacks to keep them off balance, but the bulk of our army must remain concentrated! We can still choose our ground!”
“Yes,” Halik replied, looking at the great map on the broad table. “But first we must see where they turn, how they face.” He stared hard at Madras on the map. “Not this time, my clever foe!” he softly swore. “We are learning, you see. This time, you have leaped upon the back of the radaachk’kar, and it will snatch you off. This time I will have you!”
Madras Crossroads
The sun was above the horizon now, and Colonel Billy Flynn’s Rangers remained crouched behind what cover they could find. The ground in front of their position heaved with mewling, wounded Grik, and feathery reptilian corpses lay sprawled before and among the bloody, exhausted troops. The Rangers and 1st of the 2nd Marines had reached their objective after floundering in the dense, almost junglelike forest for unanticipated hours before they finally cut the road that led them here. Only the most meager protective breastworks had been thrown up before the first sizable Grik force arrived and charged headlong in their singular, terrifying way to slaughter them. As usual, there’d been little organization to the attack, just a pell-mell, roaring sprint up the south fork of the road. But the blow fell with such sudden ferocity, Flynn nearly lost his tenuous grip on the strategic choke point. That initial attack was finally crushed only by concentrated volleys of loose-fitting “buck and ball” from the muzzle-loading Baalkpan Arsenal rifled muskets in the steady hands of Flynn’s veteran regiment, and the rapid fire of the Marines’ “Allin-Silva” conversions. In many places along the hasty line, the issue was settled with bayonets.
Sporadic flights of crossbow bolts still thrump edout of the woods on the south side of the cut, and General Lord Rolak’s guards ringed and defended him with their bronze-faced shields as he paced along, congratulating the defenders. Things were firming up now, with the arrival of General Taa-leen’s 1st “Galla” Division—mostly regiments from Baalkpan and B’mbaado—and the weight of General Rin-Taaka-Ar’s 2nd Division was starting to be felt on the left flank. There were still plenty of Grik in those woods, however, and Rolak wished the comm ’Cats of the signal corps would hurry and catch them so he could get reports directly from the aircraft beginning to crisscross the sky above.
“General Lord Rolak!” cried a ’Cat in a Maa-ni-la accent. Rolak turned to see a meanie blowing through snot-slinging nostrils and clenched
“Speak!” Halik commanded. Still groveling, the creature hissed without looking upon him.
“The prey comes!” it said.
“So soon,” Niwa mused. “I had expected a dawn attack, although that is not long now.”
“As had I,” Halik admitted. He considered how to get the most information out of the underofficer. “Do they come in force? Are there many of them on the Tongue?”
“Not the Tongue, Lord General!” the creature whined. “I runned here, long way. Others runned long way first! I told to repeat, ‘The prey is ashore in strength at Madras!”
Niwa straightened, and Halik stood from his lounging hassock. “Madras!” they chorused, and looked at each other, both their faces hardening in their own way.
“They have done it to us again!” Halik breathed bitterly.
“Yes,” Niwa said, thoughtful, even with a touch of admiration, “but where they have landed changes nothing. True, we must deploy to react, even launch spoiling attacks to keep them off balance, but the bulk of our army must remain concentrated! We can still choose our ground!”
“Yes,” Halik replied, looking at the great map on the broad table. “But first we must see where they turn, how they face.” He stared hard at Madras on the map. “Not this time, my clever foe!” he softly swore. “We are learning, you see. This time, you have leaped upon the back of the radaachk’kar, and it will snatch you off. This time I will have you!”
Madras Crossroads
The sun was above the horizon now, and Colonel Billy Flynn’s Rangers remained crouched behind what cover they could find. The ground in front of their position heaved with mewling, wounded Grik, and feathery reptilian corpses lay sprawled before and among the bloody, exhausted troops. The Rangers and 1st of the 2nd Marines had reached their objective after floundering in the dense, almost junglelike forest for unanticipated hours before they finally cut the road that led them here. Only the most meager protective breastworks had been thrown up before the first sizable Grik force arrived and charged headlong in their singular, terrifying way to slaughter them. As usual, there’d been little organization to the attack, just a pell-mell, roaring sprint up the south fork of the road. But the blow fell with such sudden ferocity, Flynn nearly lost his tenuous grip on the strategic choke point. That initial attack was finally crushed only by concentrated volleys of loose-fitting “buck and ball” from the muzzle-loading Baalkpan Arsenal rifled muskets in the steady hands of Flynn’s veteran regiment, and the rapid fire of the Marines’ “Allin-Silva” conversions. In many places along the hasty line, the issue was settled with bayonets.
Sporadic flights of crossbow bolts still thrump edout of the woods on the south side of the cut, and General Lord Rolak’s guards ringed and defended him with their bronze-faced shields as he paced along, congratulating the defenders. Things were firming up now, with the arrival of General Taa-leen’s 1st “Galla” Division—mostly regiments from Baalkpan and B’mbaado—and the weight of General Rin-Taaka-Ar’s 2nd Division was starting to be felt on the left flank. There were still plenty of Grik in those woods, however, and Rolak wished the comm ’Cats of the signal corps would hurry and catch them so he could get reports directly from the aircraft beginning to crisscross the sky above.
“General Lord Rolak!” cried a ’Cat in a Maa-ni-la accent. Rolak turned to see a meanie blowing through snot-slinging nostrils and clenched
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